


Silent Flight

by JoansGlove



Series: Just Joan [5]
Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 18:28:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15977966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoansGlove/pseuds/JoansGlove
Summary: Maggie gives Joan a gift that keeps on giving





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DirtyDuchess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DirtyDuchess/gifts).



> To my dearest friend, happy birthday mate. Here's to many, many more ^_^ Freak love ya xx
> 
>  
> 
> With thanks to Ifitbelove for her glamorous assistance

This was an inspired birthday gift of Maggie's she thought as she let herself be ushered towards the large aviary pen. Visiting here was something that she intermittently thought about doing but since she had no desire to be shepherded round with some motley group of strangers she’d always shied away from committing herself. The sanctuary didn’t open on Wednesdays, but somehow, Maggie had managed to secure her a private appointment and she was absolutely loving it! She idly wondered if, as an extra treat, Maggie had had a hand in choosing her guide as well.

 

She was rather taken by this young woman, and not just because she found her appearance endearing. But with her glossy black hair bundled into a messy bun, sun burnished olive skin, and delicate Asiatic features it was hard not to, and although her figure was hidden by a bulky windcheater and voluminous cargo pants, Joan secretly hoped that she had some nice curves under there – not that she was seriously entertaining finding out first hand, but still – a little fantasy never hurt anyone did it? More than anything else though, it was her eyes that drew Joan's attention the most. The amber irises of a lion glowed beneath almond lids fringed with the thickest lashes Joan had ever seen, and she couldn’t help but compare them to the owls she worked with.

Darya’s eyes shone with passion as she handled the birds and she radiated a pure enthusiasm that struck a chord with Joan's younger self.

 

As a rule, she didn’t approve of keeping animals locked away (only the human ones), but most of these birds had been rescued from private collections and could never survive out in the wild, and she knew that if it wasn’t for their misfortune then she’d never been able to get as close to them as she was today.

She liked that the sanctuary was set in the grounds of what was once the grand estate of a 19th century timber baron, but now the handsome old house had been converted into a vistors’ centre with offices on the upper floor, and to accommodate the many different species that had found their way here, the large gardens housed a range of enclosures and barns constructed from local fieldstone and whitewashed timber.

 

Darya's relationship with these creatures was fascinating to her. As they’d entered some of the habitat enclosures she’d marvelled at how unconcerned they were at being handled and at how easily they could be persuaded to spread their impressive wings to display intricate patterns of bars and darts. “You can never really tame them,” Darya had explained. “The best you can do is make yourself unthreatening to them and hope they accept you. Of course, it helps if you have treats in your pocket!” She’d given a little laugh then and Joan had found herself joining in so naturally that it didn’t even register as being _un_ natural.

 

“So, then - the bit where you get to hold one.” Darya entered the outdoor pen and held out her arm and, with a heavy beat of its majestic wings, the owl glided the few short metres to her keeper. “Are you ready?” she asked as she stepped back through the door. “So, this is Monica, she’s an Eurasian eagle owl,” she explained as Joan tugged on the gauntlet and offered her left wrist to the bird.  Her arm sagged a little at the unexpected weight. “Yeah, she’s a big girl isn’t she, and she’s only going to get bigger.”

 

Joan was transfixed. To be so close to something so gorgeous and deadly was breath taking.  The bird’s face was blankly beautiful, like a Renaissance era portrait of a grand lady. Framed by concave discs of fine grey, white-rimmed eyes of deepest orange stared at her and she saw herself reflected back at her in the glassy, soulless pupils. Expressive ear tufts flickered as the owl fluffed out her plumage and regarded Joan coolly. The mass of mottled black and tan was so thick and soft that (against her better judgement) Joan felt the urge to slide her fingers beneath the close-packed feathers and run them down to Monica’s fluffy feet, tipped with obsidian talons that gleamed cruelly in the sun. She was a true marvel of nature and Joan knew that she would never forget this moment.

“Make sure you keep hold of the jesses” Darya warned and wrapped them tightly around Joan's fingers. “Unlike other birds of prey, owls can’t really be trained – they’re sort of like the cat of the bird world, they’ll tolerate us but they won’t be owned by us!” She flashed Joan a grin that softened to an affectionate smile as she saw the wonder in her handsome face.

It pleased Darya that Joan's appreciation wasn’t superficial like so many a visitor’s was. She’d been an attentive student, carefully filing away everything she said as they worked their way through the displays and habitat sheds, and Joan had charmed her with an anecdote involving a camping trip in the bush, a midnight visit to the latrine, and her friend thinking that she was being murdered as she was rudely woken by the screams of a Barking Owl.

 

“They’re fascinating, aren’t they?” Darya continued, breaking the spell. “I don’t think that there’s a single society that hasn’t developed some sort of mythology about them. Did you know that some cultures believe that they have the ability to pierce illusion, to unmask and see what is truly beneath the surface? In others they are symbolic of being aware of your surroundings. In America, some tribes believe that they visit those about to die and assist them in letting go of the flesh that no longer serves them so that their spirit can reach the next plane, and in Europe barn owls were thought to be ghosts or servants of the night.”

“Yes, I can imagine. I believe that there are similar beliefs among the Aboriginal peoples too. I find it really interesting how such differing societies autonomously identified them with such similar themes.”

“I like their association with women though. In some parts of the world they are feminine spirits, goddesses of wisdom and clairvoyance. There’s something about them that just seems to fit with that, don’t you think?”

As Darya continued to talk lovingly about her avian brood Joan couldn’t help but once again think about how unusual her eyes were, and she spent almost as much time staring at the keeper as she did the owl. A faint erotic thought tickled her fancy as she wondered if this slip of a girl could handle her as well as she did these enigmatic killers.

 

The chill spring breeze that had been keeping the heat from the hazy afternoon sun at bay freshened and ruffled Monica’s ear tufts, and she turned her face to Joan and gave her a look as if to say ‘I’m not impressed’ and then, for good measure, she delicately bit her upper arm. But of course, an owl’s idea of ‘delicate’ is a lot different to a human’s and Joan winced sharply at the unexpected pain.

“I think she must be hungry. She should let go in a moment.”

“Are you sure?” she asked through gritted teeth. She caught the embarrassed amusement in the girl’s eyes and grimaced comically. “Never work with children or animals, hm?”

Darya chuckled and, pulling a locust from her pocket, persuaded the owl to release Joan. “Hey, look on the bright side,” she joked as Monica snatched the unfortunate insect from her fingers and crushed it in her beak before gulping it down, “not everyone can say that they were savaged by an owl and survived!” She grinned broadly and winked as Joan grinned back.

 

*****

 

A satisfied smile played on Joan's lips as she stepped out of the obligatory gift shop (minus tacky gift, of course) and headed towards her car. She’d thoroughly enjoyed herself today and she was even looking forward to the long drive home. Twilight was already tinting the upper reaches of the sky and the sunset promised to be stunningly pretty. All seemed right with the world and it would get even better when she got home and could thank Maggie properly through the magic of Skype.

 

She blipped the key fob but nothing happened. She blipped it again – still nothing. A few futile tugs on the door handle confirmed her suspicions. She was locked out of her car. With a dissatisfied ‘tcha’ she pulled out her phone and called the service line. Her dissatisfaction multiplied as they failed to unlock it remotely. There was a fault with the battery, they said. They’d have to send someone out, but warned that it might end up having to be towed to the nearest dealership. Very well, she had replied tightly, they had better get on with it.

 

Swinging buckets of defrosted locusts and rats, Darya was crossing the courtyard when she caught sight of Joan in the carpark. Setting them down, she stared for a moment at the attractive older woman before crunching across the gravel towards her. “Hey, how’s it going?” Her smile faded as she caught sight of Joan's grim expression.

“Slowly. The car’s dead. They’re sending a technician out but he won’t be here until seven at the earliest. Never mind, I’ll get to watch the sunset at least,” she said turning around to scan the distant horizon.

“And the sunrise too, I’m afraid.”

“Pardon me?”

“Um, I’m afraid the main gates are locked at six-thirty – no exceptions. Can you get someone to come and pick you up?” she asked hopefully.

“Not this far out, no.” Barely able contain her irritation at her predicament Joan stalked around the gleaming black island of her car. Jesus fucking christ! she thought savagely, a top of the range car at top of the range prices, and it’s fucked already. She fought to curb the strong urge to kick it.

“Maybe you could get a room in town? Danny or Mark won’t mind dropping you off on their way home.”

She shuddered inwardly at the thought of sleeping in a grubby pub bedroom. “What with?” she demanded tersely. “My wallet’s locked in the glovebox.” The girl shrank back at her reply. “I’m sorry,” she said and brushed Darya’s arm with her fingers in apology, “I didn’t mean to take it out on you. It’s just…” She forced a smile. “Do you think they’ll take an IOU?”

 

Darya opened her mouth say that she was sure they would but the words died in her throat. There had been something in Joan’s fleeting touch that called to her and she decided to take a chance. “Well, look, it’s supposed to be against the rules to have overnight guests on the estate, but I could put you up at my place if you like?” Her rooms above the old stable were tiny but there was something about this woman that made her want to be tripping over her.

“I, ah…No, I couldn’t. I mean, it’s very generous of you,” she smiled and touched Darya’s arm again in a show of gratitude, “but I wouldn’t dream of imposing on you like that. I’m sure that there’s somewhere in town...” Spending a night in this girl’s company was far more appealing than whiling away the hours in some anonymous room but it wouldn’t do to seem too eager.

Darya covered Joan's fingers with her own. “No, please, you wouldn’t be,” she assured her, barely able to keep the pleading tone from her voice. “It, it would be my pleasure.”

Joan nodded regally. “Very well, then. I accept.”

“OK,” she beamed. “Give me thirty minutes or so, yeah? I’ve just got to finish feeding time and then I’m done.”

 

“It could have been worse. You know,” Darya commented as they walked side by side back to the centre.

Joan afforded her a chilly smile. “Could it?”

“Yes, just imagine if your car had died halfway home and run off the road with you trapped inside. Now that’s a horrible thought!”

“Well, if you put it like that…”

 

*****

 

“So, here it is,” she said opening the door. “Not much, but it comes free with the job.” She excused herself and disappeared into the small bathroom leaving Joan to look around the remaining two rooms. What furniture there was seemed to be mostly cupboards except for the bed, a small TV perched on a desk, and two stools under what could laughably be called a breakfast bar in the kitchen. The plain walls were dotted here and there with pictures of owls and landscapes, and pinned to the sloping eaves above the bed was a beautifully stitched tapestry of an owl-filled tree, their plumage adorned here and there with real feathers.

Joan was idly leafing through a zoology textbook when Darya returned. She’d changed into a clean sweatshirt and joggers that still managed to hide her figure, and it occurred to Joan that actually, she was rather intrigued to find out what lay beneath.

 

Together they prepped the veggies and half an hour later they were sitting down to a spicy peanut curry. “I’ve nothing for dessert, I’m afraid,” said Darya apologetically.

“Oh, god, don’t apologise, I’m only too sorry to impose myself on you like this.”

“I’m glad of the company to be honest. I’m not always the most sociable of people but living out here can get a little lonely at times – even for me. Know what I mean?”

Joan nodded. “Yes, actually I do, but still, I am a stranger…”

“Look, you like owls and you're not a creep or a moron. And we’re getting on well enough, aren’t we?” She paused and they shared a smile. “But if it suddenly turns out that we can’t stand each other, well then, it’ll be an early night – with you on the floor instead of me - and I’ll kick you out without breakfast. What do you say?”  
Joan laughed, “can’t say fairer than that, I suppose.”

 

After dinner they sat on the bed, leaning against the wall in drifts of cushions and pillows as dolphins gambolled across the TV screen.

“Do you think that dolphins know that they’re dolphins?” asked Darya, twisting a little to better see Joan's face across the respectful distance of no man’s land.

Joan frowned a little as she gave the intriguing question some thought. “Maybe,” she replied at last. “If they do, then I have to wonder what they make of us.”

“Haha, vermin probably! Can you imagine them making documentaries on us? I mean, where would you start with a species like Homo Sapiens?”

“Ooh, now that would be a real video nasty…”

Darya gave a little start. “I’ve just remembered…” Sliding off the bed she crossed to the kitchen and began interrogating the contents of her small pantry. “Do you like honeycomb?”

“As in the stuff you get from a beehive?”  
“Yep, that’s the one.”

“Then yes, I do.”

“Good,” she smiled, dusting off a jar and returning to the bed.

 

She held the it up to the light and inspected the hand made label. “My friend Tara smuggled this through customs. Did you know you're not meant to bring raw honey in unless it’s been commercially packaged? You're about to break the law!” she declared with a giggle and twisted off the lid.

“I dread to think where she secreted it!” laughed Joan with a wicked little quirk of her eyebrow “Where’s it from anyway?”

“South America, Central America? It’s supposed the be hallucinogenic, you know,” she said sitting down cross-legged in no man’s land and popping a glistening chunk into her mouth.

“Really? They have psychedelic bees now, do they?” That earned her a snort of laughter from Darya.

“Mmm, got something to do with a cactus flower or something.” She tilted the pot towards Joan.

“And is it?” she swirled a finger in the jar and quickly transferred it to her tongue. Ooh, it was good! Rich and fragrant, and not blindingly sweet.

“Dunno. Tara reckoned it’s more like being drunk.”

Joan laughed. “Jesus, I haven’t tripped in years!”

She grinned back, “well, have some more and let me know when I turn into a Salvador Dali painting!”

 

Darya was trying to trap a fragment of comb against the inside of the jar. “Back home we eat magic mushrooms.” She grinned in achievement as she slid her quarry up the curved shoulder and balanced it on the tip of her finger.  

“Back home?”

“Mmm,” she sucked her finger clean, “Siberia. Yeah, only the Shamans are supposed to use them but everybody does”

“Siberia?? But, and please forgive me, I would have thought that you were Japanese? “

“That’s because most of the people in Northern Japan and the Kamchatka peninsula are descendants of the Ainu.” 

“And you have shamans?” She helped herself to another scoop, only just preventing a pendulous golden teardrop from landing on her blouse.

“Jeez, that was close!” she grinned as Joan licked honey from her palm. “Yeah. We still believe in spirits and demons and all the forces of nature. Our family totem is the owl, which is probably why I’m so obsessed with them.”

“That’s fascinating! Joan's eyes danced in wonder. Have you ever been to… Kamchatka, is it?”

“I was born and raised there!”

“But you sound so…”

“So not Russian?” She laughed. “We don’t all sound like we were born in the Kremlin.” Joan grinned sheepishly. “Two years in Canada, another four over here and a lot of American TV has knocked it out of me.”

 

“Russkiy?! Pob tvoyu mat!”

“Da! Russkiy! Kak vy znayete russkiy, khotya?” she launched into a barrage of intelligible questions.

“Hey, hey! Stop!” protested Joan, holding up her hands. “Other than some disgusting swear words, that’s just about all I remember – that and ‘zhizn’ moya, dusha moya’.” She reached for the jar again, halting as she remembered the near miss, and began to unbutton her blouse instead.

“You're Russian too?” she exclaimed in amazement. “Should I call you Zhanna?”

Joan shook her head. “Born there, but I’ve lived here pretty much all my life. Russian father and Aussie mother,” she volunteered. “Do you miss it?” She could feel the girl’s eyes on her as she stretched out and draped the soft green silk over the bed stead.

“Of course, but I’ve grown used to it. It’s worse when it comes to festival times because I should be with my family, taking my place in the ceremonies. I can’t receive the blessings directly and all I can do is let my totem translate my litany to the spirits.”

“Can I see it?” Joan asked, intrigued by the notion.

“Sorry, not allowed. But I can show you a replica of one I saw in Canada if you like?”

 

Three black talons dangled on thin leather thongs from two broad flight feathers, bound at the join with a pom-pom of breast feathers and beaded string. “Did you make this yourself?” she asked, testing a talon’s tip against the pad of her thumb (needle sharp!).

“Yes. But women aren’t supposed to have anything to do with them. It’s bad magic apparently.”

“Yeah, it’s always the woman’s fault, isn’t it?”

“Not where I come from, it’s mainly the women that become Shaman.”

“How refreshing!”

 

They chatted a little more, half-watching the documentary as they worked their way down the jar. She knew that it was impolite but Darya couldn’t help stealing glances at Joan as she absently trailed the talisman up and down the soft skin of her inner forearm. There was a dreamy absorption to her expression as she traced the pale blue rivers of her veins with the honed claw tips then soothed the reddened trails with the softness of the down that led Darya to realise that she was gauging the resilience of her skin against the savage beauty of the wild, and her heart beat faster.

 

Returning to Joan's ancestry, Darya asked, “so, what’s your maiden name?”

“Maiden name?!” scoffed Joan.

“Well,” she said and shifted onto her side to face her, “Ferguson's not Russian, so I assumed it was your married name…”

“Good lord, no!” she laughed. She almost added ‘not in that sense, anyway’ but she wasn’t in the mood to explain.

“So, no husband then. How about a boyfriend?”

Joan's dark eyes flickered over Darya's face and her lips twitched in amusement. “Hardly.”

“Hmm, interesting.” A gleam entered Darya’s eye.

“Interesting? How so?” she asked leadingly and scooped a fingerful of fragrant honey into her mouth, letting it dissolve over her tongue as she waited for her answer.

Darya merely flashed an enigmatic smile and helped herself to another chunk of comb. “How’s the honey working out for you?” she asked innocently.


	2. Chapter 2

Whilst not exactly hallucinogenic, the honey was definitely having some sort of effect on her. She could feel the air (thick as the honey on her tongue) pushing on her skin, each individual thread that encased her body, the intoxicating waves of heat radiated by the lovely girl… Her earlier irritation over the car had evaporated and a feeling of serene contentment had stolen over her. Yet at the same time, a giddiness infected her thoughts and there was something about their loose kinship that smoothed away her usual barriers, and she knew that the soft pout that kept tugging at her lips presaged the onset of lust. Only a fool would fail to find Darya enticing – and she was no fool.

Reaching over, Joan took the comb from Darya’s unresisting fingers and coated her own plush lips in shining honey. Gently she pressed it to the central crease of Darya’s lower lip and softly persuaded the girl to open her mouth to receive the bounty. As their eyes locked, Joan kissed her.

 

This truly was the honeyed kiss described in the ancient Epic of Izdubar. So sweet and delicate, almost magically enchanting. Time seemed to hang as the age-old conversation of attraction was conducted through tender sighs and strengthening moans.

Soft and dreamy at first, gentle touches of tongue and lip sent breathless shivers through their bodies. Then firmer, more assured, skin flushing with heat as Darya kissed back and they melted together in the swirl of sensation. Joan’s blood tingled and fizzed.

 

Peeling her lips away, Darya plucked at the hem of her sweater and with a brazen grin she lifted it up and over her head. Joan held her wanton stare for a long, deep moment then slowly let her gaze trickle downwards. Tipped by plump nipples that invited hot kisses and tender caresses, Darya’s small breasts were exquisite in their barely there-ness. Blood surged in her clit and her cunt clenched in a spurt of wetness.

“Do you really want this?” she asked in hushed tones, her dark eyes interrogating Darya’s. “I’m feeling a little out of control...I don’t know that I…”

“Shhh. I know you, Joan. I’m an Owl Woman, remember? We know everything! We see it all,” and her large eyes followed Joan's hand as she raised it over her chest and squeezed the comb between her long fingers, anointing her swelling nipples in liquid sun. She gasped loudly as strong thumbs massaged her sticky areolae and she rose to meet Joan's kiss, forcing her back against the bolster as she clambered onto her lap, kneeling astride her as she leaned into her lover's touch.

 

Sticky fingers slipped the band from Joan's functional ponytail and fluffed out her raven wing hair, and Darya thrilled as it slipped through her fingers like heavy silk. She brought a thick strand to her face and rubbed it against her cheek and mouth. “You're so beautiful,” she breathed, and groaned as Joan sucked hotly on her neck.

Grabbing the jar, she plunged three fingers into the viscous liquid and, with much dripping, smeared honey over Joan's ivory throat and chest, licking and sucking feverishly as she rubbed her mouth over sticky skin. She nudged Joan's camisole and bra strap from her creamy shoulder, revealing the swell of her upper breast and scooped more honey from the pot, dragging her lips and kisses over her curves as she lapped them clean. She kissed the fresh bruise on Joan's upper arm then darted out her tongue, tracing the welt with the very tip before covering it with her mouth and sucking hard. Joan hissed and rolled her hips in pleasure.

“See?” asked Darya, raising her smiling face to Joan's, “we see all.” And she kissed her deeply.

 

The feel of the girl’s lithe waist beneath her palms was delicious and Joan kissed her back, pushing her tongue roughly against the roof of her mouth and lashing it with firm sweeps that made Darya stiffen then writhe. A delightful shiver raced through her as she felt the straps pushed from her other shoulder and fingers slipped between her bra and sternum, tugging her clothing down until her breasts spilled free.  Suffused in the narcotic effect of the cactus flower, Joan allowed herself to be pushed back against the wall as the echo of Darya’s mouth lingered on her swollen lips, and she stared unashamedly at the subtle peaks of her scant bosom, palms prickling at the thought of holding them once more.

 

Now it was Darya’s turn to gape. Already hard nipples of the softest baby pink stiffened further as she cupped the bounteous swell in her tanned hands and ran her thumbs lightly over their very tips.

The honey created a maddening friction and a dark sweetness bloomed low down in Joan's tingling belly. As the girl’s touch became heavier and rougher the sweetness overflowed and hot little wavelets lapped around her clit making her hips roll with the gathering tide. Darya’s heart-shaped face glowed in the soft light and her pupils had grown so large that they pulled Joan into their golden ringed depths. Drifting beyond her own reflection she was buoyed up on a cushion of light that fragmented all around her as her nipples were plucked sharply and she was dragged along the clean shaft of pain with a writhing gasp back into the room.

“More,” she demanded hoarsely and jolted as her wish was granted. “Oh, god…. Mmmhh!” She was so wet. So swollen. She felt glorious.

 

Cunt to cunt, Darya rode Joan's hips. Her clit was as tight and hard as her nipples as she gazed down at the woman beneath her. Joan was so fabulously sexy that she could worship her all night. The luminosity of her skin was utterly arresting and she was fascinated as its glow blurred the outline of her dark fingers slowly squeezing her breasts – like holding the moon.

With a luxurious slowness, she bent her neck and buried her face in the radiant softness of Joan's breast, and all at once the tension left her body and as she closed her eyes she felt herself sinking into Joan's heat. Drawing the nub into her hot mouth, she suckled and nipped like a wolf pup, chewing it as Joan writhed beneath her. She brought her teeth together smartly and her gasp of pleasure as Joan's pelvis slammed into her cunt was lost beneath the deep groan of desire that issued from low in Joan's throat.

 

Joan's hands moved to her waist and the tight fabric of her cords slackened as she pushed against Darya’s mouth. “Touch me,” she whispered urgently and eased them from her hips. She held her breath as Darya’s hand inched beneath the narrow waistband of her underwear, working its way over her stomach, burrowing under the damp cotton until her petite fingers covered her wet split; and with a guttural moan, she pushed herself against them and her sodden lips enveloped the girl’s fingers and she exhaled sharply as they sank deep into her aching wetness.

Her eyelids fluttered shut as the sweetest, most alluring sensation cocooned her. A faint buzzing broke out across her body and she felt as if she were both weightless and rising fast, and as deft fingers worked their magic on her desperately sensitive flesh, multicoloured sparks danced behind her lids like fireflies driven by the sweep of Darya's fingers. The girl’s touch filled her entire body with a yearning sea of light, its brilliance making her gasp silently as it flayed her altered senses. Lost in its depths, she almost drowned as sharp teeth bit into her other breast.

 

She had the sensation of being stroked all over by a hundred gloved hands and then she was obliterated by the churning grip of overpowering ecstasy as her orgasm slammed her without warning. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move. She was lost to the glory of pure physical pleasure, clinging to the shining, twisting skein of exhilaration, victim to its blinding joy.

She lay disoriented and shattered. Her breath sounding loud in the dim room as she dragged in huge, shivering gulps. She tried to get up. She wanted to thank the girl, to give her the same joy but Darya wouldn’t have it. She was pushed back down and commanded to stay as she reached up and took down a box from the overhead shelf, smiling to herself as she saw how Joan was staring at her breasts. “Take off your clothes and lie down properly for me, Zhanna.”

 

Slipping out of her joggers, Darya moved the honey out of harm’s way and then knelt alongside Joan and dipped her hand into the box, removing a fan made of barred feathers. She snapped it open and with little crooning noises stroked it over her breasts and belly, smiling as Joan's eyes grew large and liquid. She floated its curved edge over Joan's lips, caressing the contours of her jaw, her breasts, working her way down her long, glowing body, watching with interest as Joan curled the soles of her feet at the soft caress instead of snatching them away with a giggle. Folding the fan, she rapped it against the wrinkled skin.

 

The sudden change in sensation roused Joan from her narcotic daze and an alertness coursed through her making her heart thud loudly in her ears. She hissed as sharp scratches made her feet flex and she knew that they were made by talons. Closing her eyes, she gave herself over to sensation.  

Their tracks along her body burned like strips of sunlight in her mind, searing runnels of molten gold flaring in the darkness, distilling her arousal as the throb between her legs strengthened and she began to twist and tremble.

 

Darya could sense the electricity arcing between them as she marked loops and swirls over Joan's pale body, and goosebumps broke out across her skin with a sensual shiver. She drank in the way the woman beneath her undulated as she sighed like a forest in a storm and it was all she could do not to slide onto that fabulous body and dissolve into Joan’s shimmering aura.

A dark smile lit Joan's face as the polished talons scraped over the velvet of her breasts. She pressed the tip hard into the side of her nipple, denting (but not quite breaking) the tough skin. Joan's thighs clenched and her hips rolled wantonly.  “You like that, do you?” she asked and tugged gently.

Joan bit her lip as her breathing became harsher. “Mmmm…”

“You want some more?”

“Yesss,” she whispered.

Delicately, she stroked Joan's nipple with the outer curve of the second claw then dug it into the reddened tip and tugged again. Joan's face contorted as she rode the wave of pleasure and Darya shuddered in erotic sympathy, the deep delicious ache circling her sex billowing through her like a hot desert wind.

 

Joan was a prisoner to her body’s needs. Her pulsing clit clamoured to be touched as she wallowed in the sweet, roiling current of need and she slid a tingling hand over her hip bone, seeking out the furred edge of her mons. Then her nipple was squeezed between the two talons and her thighs slammed together as she shook under the battering pulse of ecstasy rocketing from her cunt. Her hips bucked wildly as the needle tips pierced the tough skin and she clawed at the girl’s thighs as Darya bound the two claws with a narrow thong. Tension flowed from her and she was floating in the amniotic darkness of indescribable bliss, the bright pain and penetrating throb in her core the only tethers to reality.

She barely felt Darya’s mouth on hers, was only vaguely aware of hands slithering down her body and parting her knees, but a hot tongue glancing over her clit shattered the spell and she surfaced with a great, gasping breath, arching from the bed as searing heat flashed across her skin.

 

She was made of fiery ice, melting in the blaze of her own desire as Darya smeared hot juices the length of her swollen pinkness, feeling her wetness grow as the girl massaged her soft folds, sliding finger after finger into her, stretching her, making her burn for more. The slow insinuation of Darya’s hand, the steady twist and thrust was hypnotic. She wanted to be filled. She wanted the forceful pressure of unstoppable pleasure, the push, the sharp burn, the undefinable ache from being full of fist.

“Yes, all of it…” she managed to mumble before almost going out of her mind as she rocked against Darya's hand, her long legs gripping her tightly as she knelt between them, clutching fistfuls of bedclothes as she felt herself drawn upwards into a spangled cloud of sensation.

 

The sweet feeling intensified until she was almost sobbing with joy and then Darya flexed her fingers, her knuckles stroking the very deepest part of her and igniting a surge of endorphins that flowed around her as if wrapping her in a blanket of sun-baked sable, and she was lost to the tide of her heartbeat and cresting waves that pushed and pulled her closer to the deepest waters.

 

How long Darya kept her suspended like that she didn’t know but a sudden sweep of fingertips over her throbbing nipple ignited an explosion that had her gasping wide eyed as her neglected clit jumped and pulsed. Darya's face was a mask of concentration, a mixture of awe, sex, voracious need, devotion, and it took her a few moments to rearrange her features into a smile of simple delight as she locked eyes with her. “Oh god, lick me,” Joan begged thickly and slid her hands to her breasts, tugging at the claws, dragging at her undamaged nipple as she rode the girl’s gentle thrusts.

 

The bright, velvety heat of Darya's mouth turned her insides to liquid, dissolving her bones, pushing her higher and higher. Unconsciously, she squeezed the talons together, her whole body registering the gentle crunch as they sank deeper into diamond-hard flesh. It was both the devil’s bite and an angel’s kiss and she stiffened before toppling over the precipice into the heaving, convulsive black hole of orgasm. She came and came, barely emerging from one earth shattering explosion before she was taken again by the grinding caress of another until at last, she was permitted to fill her lungs with blessed air and cling weakly to the bed as her vision cleared. Small surges continued to shake her even after Darya withdrew her hand and curled up against her, arm around her neck, and she was grateful of the solid heat of another body.


	3. Chapter 3

Staring up at the multitude of owls she had the strange sense of being entwined with nature, verdant leaves vibrated at the edges of her vision and Joan had a notion that one the majestic birds moved, turning its head and slowly blinking down at her. Her gaze fell from the wicked talons gripping the embroidered branches to the ones piercing her nipple and she tugged at the fine knot holding them fast. Pain burst through her breast as the numbing pressure was replaced by the harsh pulse of her blood and she sucked in air through gritted teeth as she eased them from her flesh, letting it out in a sharp burst as her overworked cunt clenched in helpless response.

 

Darya kissed her, the tender touches of her tongue quickly intensifying as Joan's hand grazed her naked form, and, staring deep into Joan's eyes, she lay back and guided her pale fingers between her thighs. She gave a little shriek of surprise as instead, Joan slid her hand beneath her backside and first rolled her onto her side, and then pushed her onto her front. “I want you like this.” Darya turned her head and rested her cheek on her forearm, staring wordlessly at the desire in Joan's eyes, and nodded.

A heavy leg slithered over her own and a shudder of pleasure raced along her spine as Joan stroked her back and buttocks, trailing her fingers down the backs of her thighs and slowly dragging them up the satiny inner surface until they brushed her plump outer lips. Jagged patterns formed behind her eyelids and she pushed her forehead into the pillow, rubbing her sticky cunt against the tips of Joan's maddening fingers as they teased and titillated.

 

Then a crushing heat engulfed her and her breath left her in a quivering rush. Joan lay on top of her, covering her, gripping her hands as she rubbed against her, lips and teeth against her neck and shoulders as Joan ground her hot belly into her backside, her weight mashing her clit into the blankets with every solid thrust until Darya was crying out for a release that she didn’t really want. Joan's mouth on her body was like an electric shock, filling her with a charge so strong that the small hairs lifted from her skin.

Suddenly, Joan was rolling onto her back taking Darya with her, cradling the scant crescent of her breast in her large hand as the other glided over her hip to hold her tight. She needed Joan to hold her tight. She needed Joan to stop her from breaking into a thousand pieces, needed her strength to tame the voracious need in her. She had never felt so safe and yet so out of control. Nails scraped across her mons and down her inner thigh, stalling the breath in Darya's chest.

 

Tension built in the girl, and Joan buried her face deep into her thick nest hair, soft and fragrant with natural oils, and began to deliver teasing touches to the tender flesh as she dreamily worked her way to heavily furred lips that parted with a single sweep of her finger to expose delicate frills so heavily coated in creamy secretions that they slipped from her grip as she gently tugged and rubbed them between her fingertips.

Darya burned like a firebrand against her skin, hot and sleek as a lioness, muscle flexing beneath her supple hide as she arched and writhed into her touch.  Joan senses soared, she felt amazing! The sounds of their desire filled her ears, the smell of their desire filled her nose. The feel of this vibrant young woman spoke to a place in her soul that she so rarely let loose – to the animal inside that wanted without reason, that took when it wanted, that devoured what was given and which never stopped hunting for more… But Darya wasn’t prey. No, she knew that in Darya's soul too lived a predator, not like hers that hunted in the dark of the forest, but one that ranged the sky – silent, unexpected and deadly – but just as demanding a mistress as her own. 

 

The scant breast under her palm disappeared as Darya reached up and cradled her head, strong fingers gripping her skull as she grasped the plump nipple and rolled it until it jutted from the girl’s ribcage like a pinecone. Her mouth watered at the thought of dragging her broad tongue over those sticky little mounds and she slaked her thirst on Darya's neck, licking and tugging at the caramel skin with her teeth as two fingers slid deep inside her molten cunt with a silken rush. Despite her excitement, the girl was tight and she squeezed Joan's knuckles together as she responded with a low cry.

At the first pump of her fingers, Darya issued a mighty groan and lifted her hips from Joan's belly, pushing her clit into her palm as she thrust back, and Joan curled her fingertips into the spongy mass of her G-spot, gripping hard as she vibrated her hand until Darya collapsed back into her. She fucked her hard, fucked her fast, fucked her with the softness of a feather, fucked her until she opened up and took another finger; she fucked her relentlessly, absorbing the powerful charge that emanated from her heaving body and giving it back as she clasped Darya even tighter to her.

 

With a series of wavering cries, Darya rocked forward, breaking from Joan's embrace as she curled her spine around the building pressure in her belly, and then Joan was holding her once more, sitting up and cradling her in her lap like a child as she fucked her to delirium, hot breath on her neck, teeth against skin, a hard palm scrubbing across her tits until they tingled and throbbed.

There was no division between she and Joan, she was fused into the burning cage of Joan's body and her pale touch seemed like an extension of her own - so knowing and so perfectly executed and she felt the surge of orgasm closing in on her with an hypnotic inevitability. She felt herself rising out of her body, soaring like an owl, as if she were being drawn up into the realm of the spirits and she grabbed desperately at the broad curve of Joan's hips, suddenly scared that she’d drift out of her arms towards the glowing yellow eyes of the she-wolf that flickered ghost-like in the ether.

A trickle of white hot sensation forged its way through her body, gathering strength until she was filled with the unstoppable, thunderous roar of a rushing climax that scoured her senses, ripping through her in blinding bursts of such intensity that her body ceased to exist and she tumbled in the darkness of the before, the after, the forever.

 

“Ohhhh,” she sighed and leaned heavily into the solid support of Joan's searing body. “Pob tvoyu mat!”

“Mmmm, I know,” murmured Joan into her ear and pulled her back down onto the bed, curling around her as the light sheen of sweat cooled on Darya's skin. She was feeling sublimely relaxed and languorous.

“It was as if we could read each other’s spirits.” Darya stroked Joan's inner wrist and smiled up at her. “You have a powerful guardian in the wolf, you know. I saw it.”

In that moment, Joan was almost inclined to believe her and she gently humoured her. “It would have to be a lone wolf. I’m not one for packs.”

“When you have a wolf as a guide, you live your life more freely, you trust your instincts to find the way that will best suit you, you feel a passion in all that you do. The solitude of the wolf is a precious thing.”

“Hmmf, a wolf,” she mused and snuggled closer. “Who’d have guessed?”

 

They drowsed for a while as the psychedelic effects of the honey slowly ebbed away. At some point the theme to a late-night news show blared from the TV and Joan woke with a start. It took her a second or two to remember where she was and she rubbed her eyes as a great yawn stole over her. “Can I shower?” she asked as Darya stretched beside her.

“But of course!” She slipped from Joan's arms and took a towel from a cupboard. “Here, you’ll be wanting a toothbrush too,” Darya opened a nearby drawer and handed her a white cellophane packet. Joan recognised it instantly as an airline ‘comfort’ pack. “One of Tanya’s less exciting presents,” she explained with a soft chuckle.

Joan grinned. “She thinks of everything, doesn’t she?”

When she emerged from the bathroom, the bed had been freshly made and Darya was unrolling her swag. “Hey, no, Darya, no,” she protested and stayed her with a touch to her shoulder. “That’s not necessary. Not now.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind.”

Joan cupped Darya’s face and her dark eyes crinkled as a happy smile played on her lips. “Yes, I’m sure,” she said softly. Spinning the girl around she gave her a gentle shove towards the bathroom. “Now off you go. I’ll be waiting for you.” **  
**

**Epilogue**

 

The sun had barely cleared the horizon, and Joan leaned against the sparkling black wing of her beautiful (yet useless) car, squinting down the driveway as she awaited the technician. She’d left Darya with a lingering kiss and a promise to repay the favour should she ever find herself in the fleshpots of Canberra. It had been a long time since something like last night had happened to her. Letting go like that, relinquishing control so quickly – it had been like a breath of fresh air, and a buoyancy crept into her as she replayed their first kiss. But her life was different now she began to wonder if she wasn’t already regretting such a rash offer. Her thoughts were interrupted by the rumble of the tow truck lumbering up from the gate, and she steeled herself for a long and boring journey home.

 

The cab door swung open and she watched without interest as a pair of work boots stepped down onto the running board. Through the dusty window, Joan caught a glimpse of short greying hair beneath a worn baseball cap as the Tec jumped down with an accompanying crunch of gravel.

“G’day, how’s it goin? Ms, ah, Ferguson, is it?”

Joan's eyes widened in surprise and she smiled at the old-school butch approaching her, pen poised above clipboard. “None other,” she confirmed.

“I’m Toni, and I’ll be ya driver for today.” She flashed a Joan a winning smile that dropped ten years from her face. “Right then, let’s get loaded up and I can get ya on ya way, eh.”  


“Don’t you want to know what’s wrong with it?”

“Nup, she’s right. Says it all right here,” she tapped the sheaf of papers. “It’s a glitch in the alarm software, can’t do nuthin’. They usually unlock themselves before the battery carks it? Makes it hell of a lot easier to get into the computer and open the bonnet. Ya got unlucky.” She offered a shrug of regret. “Got anything important in there?”

“Only all of my money, cards and ID.”

“Not what ya need is it, eh?”

A frown darkened her face. “No, not when I’m paying for excellence.”

“Well, look, I’ll let ya into a little secret. If the papers pick up on this fault then they’ll face a full-scale recall. I reckon if ya kick up enough stink they’ll offer to replace it with the latest model just to keep quiet.”

“That’s good to know. Thanks.”

 

“So, ya had the dubious privilege of a night in Gundaroo did ya?”

“Actually, one of the keepers here put me up.”

Toni glanced over at the main building. “What, here at the sanctuary?”

“Mm, yes. She was most, ah,” Joan raised her eyebrow and smirked at Toni, “ _accommodating_ too.” She let her words hang in the air as she flirtatiously twirled her ponytail around her index finger.

“Was she now?” She stepped closer. “Of course, some people are easier to accommodate than others, don’tcha find?” Toni’s eyes crawled brazenly up Joan's body and she winked.

“Undoubtedly.” The words ‘rough trade’ sprang to mind but Toni’s easy confidence rekindled the buzz between her thighs. It must be a hangover from the honey, she thought to herself.

 

As the winching gear dragged her car up onto the back, she settled herself in the cab. It was hot in here after the chilly car park and she slipped out of her jacket as the morning sun sliced through the windscreen like a laser. It burned through the thin silk of her blouse and warmed the bare skin beneath (her sticky bra and camisole lay neatly folded - along with yesterday’s underwear - in the carrier bag beside her), yet despite the heat, her nipples remained hard and very visible.  She smiled as she envisaged the look on Toni’s face when she caught sight of them and impulsively undid another button.

 

The cab door opened with a rush of cool air. “So,” Toni said, eyeing Joan's cleavage as she climbed into her seat, “had any brekkie yet?”

“Actually, no. It was all a bit of a rush this morning.”

Toni’s mirthful expression said that she could guess why too. “Great, me neither! I know a great little kiosk out by Santa’s. We’ll stop off and I’ll treat ya.” Her gaze wandered back to Joan's breasts. “I’m in a very, aha, accommodating mood today.”


End file.
